


Samantha's Missing

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I suck at this, i dont know what im doing, im sorry, its skips time a lot, just kidding read it fools, no, no grammar/spell check, oh god dont look, please no
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-14
Updated: 2013-11-16
Packaged: 2018-01-01 10:58:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1044034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock, John, and Greg go to America and work a case for Mycroft because he 'owes a friend'. It just so turns out that Greg has a sister who's daughter was abducted two weeks earlier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John, and for some odd reason Greg all go to America to solve a case for Mycroft because he 'owes a friend', Greg is looking for someone but Sherlock doesn't know who, and there is a hatred of hotels.

"Hold on, I'll be right back." Lestrade put a brief hand on his shoulder and Sherlock nodded, patiently standing as he watched Greg walk off and stop a few people, pulling out a picture and showing them before nodding unhappily and walking away. Sherlock watched him carefully as he went about asking a handful of people in this manner.  After a few seconds, he came back and they continued on.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Sherlock looked out the car window as they drove back to the yard. John would have his head (metaphorically, of course) if he didn’t fill out the papers correctly.

"I'm waiting for you to ask." Lestrade sighed as he loosed his grip on the wheel and turned around a corner.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I think this is something I shouldn't meddle in." Obviously he was looking for someone Maybe it was a close relative or a significant other. It could be a pet but then again he wouldn't be asking around in a town miles and miles away from London.

"Thank you."  
~

 

"Now Sherlock, this is an important case and I will not be having you skip out on it just because I'm the one asking you!" Mycroft jabbed his cane at the floor of the house, punctuating his frustration with his younger brother. "All I'm asking of you is to fly off to America with the inspector-detective and help a friend."

"Why should I?" Sherlock ran gentle fingers over the strings of his violin and sat glaring at the eldest of the Holmes boys.

"Because I owe them." Mycroft bit out between strained teeth.

"How would I benefit from cleaning up your debt?" Sherlock raised an eyebrow and held back a smirk.

"It's a new case, Sherlock. I think if anyone would benefit from this, it would be you." Mycroft's face twitched ever so slightly and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Fine." Mycroft's chin rose in triumph and he smiled.

"You leave next week, little brother." He smiled with a fake sort of sweetness and walked out of the apartment.

"Are you two always going to be like that?" John shook his head from behind his news paper in his own chair and flipped the page. Sherlock smiled to himself.  
~

 

They found Lestrade easy enough in the last air port in the nice and cold weather of the northern half of the southern peninsula in Michigan, USA, North America. They took a few cabs and that a rental until they reached destination. Greg seemed edgy the closer they were and Sherlock couldn't help watching the whole drive.

"Are you okay?" John whispered to him.

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit jet lagged is all." Sherlock replied, glancing at a very tired looking flat mate of his. "Are you alright, John?" John nodded and smiled then looked out the car window from the opposite side he was used to seeing out of. Americans had their cars backwards.  
~

 

"I assume you're the one from London, yes?" A short and plump man named Richard looked up at them with a warm smile and nodded to himself. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard a great deal about you." The man held out his hand. When Sherlock's own remained in his pocket, John reached out and shook hands with him instead. The office smelled like toner and disinfectant with a hint of burnt coffee.

"I'm John, colleague of his." Richard nodded and smiled, eyes quickly flicking to the shorter of two men from a pair of thick glasses.

"Yes, well, if you'll come with me I'll get you the case file." John followed the happy man through spaces of cubicles and desks while Sherlock stayed behind and looked about.

"He's not really one for conversation, is he?" Richard asked, smiling to his co-workers as he passed them.

"Um, no, he's not." John dead panned as he glanced back to Sherlock.

"That's alright.” Richard excused himself as they passes through a doorway that led to more cubicles. “I had a grandfather like him. He was always quiet. The man kept to himself mostly. But when he found out my sister was being picked on he went and fixed that quick; made a big deal out of it too just so the little snot would get in trouble.” He chuckled briefly and continued, looking slightly serious. “He'd do anything for his own, wouldn't he?" He ducked into one of the small spaced and slid a manila folder off of his desk, slapping it into John's hand.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."  
~

 

"I hate hotel rooms." Sherlock mumbled under his breath as they entered the room, suitcases in hand.

"Why's that?" Greg asked, throwing his things on one of the mattresses.

"I'm not home."

"I dunno, I sorta like the fact that I don't have to worry about things like cooking food or making tea." John sighed as he relaxed on the bed; legs stretched out and arms folded back behind his head.

“Yes well don’t get too comfortable, we wouldn’t be able to afford this if brother hadn’t paid for us.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and spread out the contents from the man named Richard. He was oddly cheerful and jolly given how plainly rude Sherlock had been to him, and Sherlock was aware he’d been rude; in fact he’d done it on purpose. He frowned as he looked at the case. _Too many blank spaces._ He and John would have to go and get a closer look. None of the photographs were showing him anything important.

“G’night, Sherlock.” John yawned after what seemed like seconds after he sat down, but a glance out the window showed that hours had passed. He grunted in reply and went back to thinking.

~

 

“Figure it out yet?” A cup of tea was placed in front of him and he blinked, pulling out of his mind and falling back into reality.

“I have several notions but I lack information for any of them to be proven. Thank you by the way.” He picked the cup up and took a sip of the warm liquid.

“Tired yet?” John asked, shuffling back to sit on the bed that he had taken as his own.

“No, not yet.”

“You will be.”

“I second that.” Greg walked out, white foam surrounding his mouth as he continued brushing his teeth. “I feel like I just went through Uni again, _Christ_.” He mumbled under his breath as he went back to the bathroom.

“John.”

“Yes?”

“We have to go and take a look today. There’s not enough.” John nodded and started digging through his suitcase.

“You should change too, Sherlock. As far as I know, you’ve had that outfit on since half way through the day before yesterday.” John noted as he started buttoning up a flannel shirt.

“Okay.”

~

 

_She woke up in a haze feeling sluggish and sore. Her arms ached from being tied back for so long and her wrists burned at the slightest movement._ Damned rope.

_Her head rose slowly and she looked around briefly. The stench of body odor and rotting food filled her nose and an overwhelming wave of dizziness made her see stars for a few seconds until she blinked it away. Her neck ached as well when she looked up and her tongue felt like paper against the roof of her mouth. She coughed and felt the dryness in her throat. For once, no one was there; and she couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i came, i wrote, i was (probably) hated (maybe).


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock, John, and Greg solve the case, Samantha escapes, and a dog kills.

It’s so fucking cold. _She shuddered in the chair and looked around hazily. A glass sat on the counter barely half filled with water and there was already a film of something building on it. She swallowed and blinked her eyes lazily, trying to turn her torso but arms were tied behind her back and secured around the back railings. She shifted one of her legs and it popped in the knee. She winced at the sound, flexing the rest of her legs. She stayed quiet, not really sure if she should call out or stay put; a rat crawling across her foot had other plans though and she jumped, screaming in disgust and knocking the chair onto its side, pulling her along with it._

_When she tried rolling over, a loud crack echoed through the decayed walls. There was no pain except for the obvious bruise that would soon be blooming horribly over her right shoulder so it had to be the chair. Heart now starting to speed, she stopped moving, listening to see if anyone had heard her upstairs. Her stomach lurched when nothing happened._ Maybe if I just. . . _She brought her knee up and forced it down as hard as possible in the now over turned chair leg. She ended up scraping the sole of her shoe and she winced, taking in a sharp breath between her teeth before trying again. Another crack sounded off and she bit her lip, doing it a third time and breaking the leg of the chair off. The seat split down the middle and her stomach acted as though it were floating for the briefest second. She had a chance. She could get out._

_Folding her leg as close as she could, she caught her heel on the edge on the seat and pushed down. Her foot slipped and she raced her whole calf down the wood, pant leg and all chafing up to her knee. She yelped; clenching her eyes shut until she was willing to look at whatever damage was done. A white skid mark went up her leg and was quickly turning pink with red pin pricks of blood. Again she folded her leg, trying to be cautious about it since it stung when the slightly injured calf touched her thigh. She brought her heel up and pushed down several times before a final and dimmed crack declared the chairs defeat. It had continued to move down with her foot causing the rail to break as well._

_She took a deep breath when she felt the rope slacken with the lack of security and grimaced as she tugged and twisted and tore her sore wrist out followed by the other. She rolled from her side onto her chest and breathed, actually breathed; the kind where your shoulders get carried with it and you inhale so deeply it almost hurts. And she didn’t care that the floor smelled awful, or that her greasy, matted hair was all over her face, or even that she was breathing god knows what into her mouth. She was on the floor, out of the chair, and she was going to be okay. And at this point, nothing was going to stop her._

_With sore arms and an aching back, she pushed herself up, gritting her teeth as she felt the muscles in her arms ache in protest. Finding the closest wall and leaning on it, she made her way out of the room, stopping for a moment to look back and raise a mighty middle finger, shouting as loud as she could manage a mighty “FUCK YOU” to the broken and accursed chair along with the rest of the trapping room. She turned back and continued down a hallway that led to what looked like the remains of a living room that also included the front door. She wiggled the handle and with a shrieking moan, it opened letting in a gust of brittle fall air and sunlight; so much sunlight. She’d been stuck up for who knows how long in that room on that god-awful chair that she’d felt as though the tiny yellow dot that seemed to burn the living hell out of your eyes seemed like a blanket of security. She closed her eyes. Breathing in and out, tears welled in her eyes, streaming down her filthy cheeks and she sighed as though she was alive again._

_Her heart leaped as she took that step on the porch, down the stairs, onto the pathway and made it to the sidewalk. She looked around. It seemed like one of those subdivisions that would get started and then abandoned after they were a quarter of the way through with building and everything was spaced out fairly far apart. The house she had come from looked like it hadn’t even been finished. Plastic sheets hanged in the windows and a few were even boarded up. She recognized papers on the front door. It was condemned._

_She walked down the sidewalk with a slight limp in one leg and made her way to the nearest house. The building was small and painted a sort of off white with the bare ground of flowers from seasons past on either side of the front steps. There was a metal cut-out of a witch holding a sign that said ‘BEWARE’ next to the door way. She reached a hand out and pushed the yellowing plastic of the door bell._

_“Coming!” A cheerful call came from the depths of the home followed by shuffling. The door opened revealing a little old lady in a button up sweater and curly white hair containing strands of gray looked at her brightly until she realized what she was looking at and then she stared worriedly. “Can I help you, dear?”_

_~_

 

“So what d’you?” John asked as they walked away from the taped off house.

“Still need more information. We’ll need to look at the body. I’ve narrowed down the options though.” Him and John crossed the street and continued.

“Can you tell me some?”

“Obviously it’s not a murder. It does look like one at a glance but if you look closer you can tell.” John gave him a look and shook his head.

“And how do you know that?” Sherlock rolled his eyes but smiled, explaining after hailing a cab down on the street.

“Closed windows, locked doors, no evidence of forced entry, and to be specific, no evidence to show anyone but the homeowner was were present at the time of death. No finger prints, no foot prints, no witnesses, not a thing. Doesn’t seem much like murder to me, how about you?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he opened the door to a cab, letting John slide in first.

“I’ll give you that, but how do you explain the knife in her throat?” John tilted his head as if he had won for once.

“Why do you think we’re going to the body?” He plainly stated, crossing his legs and pulling out his phone.

**Going to St. George Hospital on corner of Williams and Gregory. Find whatever else you can about Mallory.**

**SH**

John paid the driver and they went inside. Sherlock spent his time looking at Ms. White while John flirted with an employee.

“So you’re like a detective?” She asked, leaning across the counter on her elbows.

“Consulting detective.” Sherlock corrected from across the room.

“I’ve never heard of that before.” She looked to John, tilting her head slightly and batting her eyelashes.

“Of course you haven’t, I made it up myself. I’m the only one in the world.” Sherlock said yet again as he walked in a circle around the body.

“Ooh, how nice.” She winked at John while nibbling on her lower lip.

“It’s not going to happen so I suggest you stop before you embarrass yourself, Miss Harmony.” Sherlock sighed while he walked out. “I’m done, John. Let’s go.” He held the door and let it swing shut on its own.

“What the hell?”

“This is America, John, it’s not like you can keep a relationship with her. You can barely do the same back at home, what makes you think it’ll happen from across an ocean?”

“Are you serious?”

“What?” Sherlock looked to him confused for once.

“You think I’d try and date an American from across an ocean? I thought she just wanted a good shag.” John shrugged as they walked along. Sherlock looked at him sideways the rest of the way back out.

~

 

“What’d you find?” Sherlock asked Lestrade as they sat down. They’d met up at a restaurant called ‘Big G’s’ for lunch.

“Nothing much, really. She was a quiet lady. Kept to herself, helped when she could. She was widowed about seven years ago and also had a dog.” He put a notepad down on the table and slid it across to Sherlock who read it quickly.

“A dog?”

“Yeah, y’know, ‘man’s best friend’ and all.” Greg shrugged as he looked at the menu. “I’m thinking about a cheeseburger, what about you, John?”

“I was thinking about that too.” Sherlock was off in his head as the conversation continued. A dog changed the info; it changed the theories and the ideas, it changed everything.

“John.”

“Yes, Sherlock?” John looked away from the conversation.

“I’ve solved the case.”

“That’s nice and all but could we please eat before rushing off again?”

“No.”

“Brilliant.” And so they left the restaurant, John apologizing to the waitress on their way, and they piled into a taxi. Sherlock rambled on about how he’d figured it out and narrowed it down and how he’d almost gotten it wrong until Lestrade had told him. Down at the station he explained it more clearly.

“Mallory White lived alone in a quiet neighborhood with her dog, Georgia. Georgia is a welsh springer spaniel who was lived with Ms. White for five happy years; two years after Mr. White passed away, widowing Ms. White. On the day of her death, Mallory was going to a big family reunion a few towns over. Knowing everyone was supposed to bring something, she was making chicken noodle soup. After all, nothing chases away the fall chill like a good homemade meal.” Sherlock smiled tightly and continued. “While amidst chopping vegetables, the house phone rings and she goes to answer it. While she’s gone Georgia comes in and gets into the food, spilling the ingredients from the counter onto the floor. Ms. White returns, slips on the food, tries to hoist herself back up by grabbing onto the counter and ends up toppling the knife over the edge where it lands in her neck, causing major blood loss and a lack of oxygen to her brain where she dies on her kitchen floor.” He concluded hastily. Richard struggled to write it all down as he went along but managed either way.

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I’ll have her family contacted immediately.” Richard beamed as he left to his office phone. John smirked at him and chuckled.

“A dog, really, can’t wait to fill out the paperwork for that.”

~

 

_“Come on in, you look like you could use a bit of everything.” She smiled as she stepped aside, leaving room to walk in. “Edgar, we have a guest!” She shouted behind her into the house._

_“Nonsense! Who would want to see us?” An old man’s voice replied jokingly, followed by a grunt and the shuffling. “Oh my, young lady, you look like you woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” The old man smiled widely as her. His face was old and worn like leather. He had on a blue plaid shirt underneath a tan button up and thickly framed glasses._

_“Would you like to use your bathroom? Edgar, do we still have some of Claire’s old clothes?” She looked back to her with a calculating stare._

_“I’ll be right back little lady. Keep my sweetheart busy while I’m gone. I can’t have her running away from me, now can I?” He winked at the woman and went back the way he came._

_“What’s your name, honey?”_

_“Samantha.”_

_“Well, Samantha, you make yourself right at home.” She smiled warmly and placed a reassuring hand on her back._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had fun writing this and therefore I do not regret it.

**Author's Note:**

> Im sorry you had to read this maybe you should go and cleanse your mind with good writing.  
> if you did like my god awful writing then leave kudos and or a comment


End file.
